Superfreeze
by DarkWater67
Summary: Searching at midnight, lost in the snow, Where did you go, Alfred? where did you go? [Oneshot, RusAme]


Dragging all the energy available from the extremities of his body, he carries me through the tundra, half by will, half via pure strength. "I-Ivan?" A say his name pathetically, thinking he'll do something terrible, something obscene. "Shh, you shouldn't be out here malyutka, it is too cold for your tiny body to withstand, nyet?"

Recently I've been trying to get to him. I'm not sure why, maybe it's the 'mortal enemies for life' thing, or perhaps I find him attractive, but something, I find, just ends up drawing me back. Back to those strong arms, back to that silly, innocently child-like grin, and back to those eyes, those violet pools that could melt the late winter snow like a hot knife on butter. It's rather gorgeous. Yeah, it's definitely the latter of the two options that acts as the magnet from me to him.

"We have arrived, malyutka."

I look up from my velveteen prison and just stare in awe at the titanic house in front of me. No words I'll ever think of can describe the beautiful mansion, in its sparkly, snow coated glory, surrounded by a thick sea of green brown and white.

Stepping indoors. A blast of warm air only partially hits my face, because the other side is shielded by a bulky winter jacket wrapped around my back. And suddenly, I regain the feeling of my own weight, and the arms gently set me down. Through the scarf that has ridden up over my face a murmur a muffled 'thank you', and leave it at that. "Not at all, malyutka." The large man tells me, his features soon turning to a more serious expression.

"Now, what were you doing out there in all of that snow? It is not so good for your health, you know, da?"

"Yeah, I know..." I respond with a scowl.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I was looking for you, Ivan."

"That was thoughtful of you, but you shouldn't go risking your own wellbeing for me, Alfred." His reply is cynical, almost spiteful, and maybe a little bit condescending. It heightens in pitch, and grates away at my eardrums, piece by tiny piece. "What would the others think, hmm? Look, there's the guy who risked his life for a creepy sadisti-"

"I couldn't give a damn what the others think, Ivan!"

I've gone too far, and my ridiculously drained energy level finally catches up with me. My head is spinning, legs buckling, arms failing to do what they should do. I brace myself for the feeling of skin slamming into stone, but is never comes. The hands that carried me here are yet again holding my body, and I look up into Ivan's crystalline eyes, and just pass out entirely. Out for the count.

Warmth. Comfortable conditions surround my body. The room is dim, lit only by candle light, and I try to figure out where I am. "Alfred? Ah, you're awake. I thought I might have to wake you up myself..." Ivan chuckles to himself, the last part barely slipping out from between him chapped lips. "There is one thing I don't understand, konfetka." Ivan tells me, changing his tone "I do not understand exactly, but why is it that you want to see me so badly, you end up coming and hurting yourself?"

"Because." I'm not in the mood for speaking. I'm tired.

"Because what?"

"I ireally/i don't know."

"You're making fun of me, are you not, konfetka? I demand you tell me." The Russian seems hurt by my last statement of sarcasm.

"I love you, dipshit." I finally spit out, much to my own surprise. Ivan is taken aback. "You what?"

"I'm inot/i telling you twice, commie! You heard me." I roll over, embarrassed it had to come out like this. What is my life. I mean, come on, I can't have more cringeworthy moment than this.

"It's okay, Alfred, I understand." I feel a hand on my shoulder, rolling me back over, and through my bleary, lethargic eyes I see a face leaning in toward me. His face. His beautiful face. I pitiably lean forward, and my nose grazes his. I hear a soft laugh. Then our lips meet. His beautiful eyes flicker shut, and we kiss for the very first time. It's like I'm dying and coming back to life constantly, and I could do it for hours and hours on end. It's alcoholic, every second spent spirals me deeper and deeper into my grotesque infatuation with the man. His hands encase my back in warmth and I pull him closer, the fingers of one of my own hands winding its way into his silky locks of hair. It's wet and intoxicating, and I'm running out of breath.

Pulling apart. I look down, then back at his face. "You have beautiful eyes..." I tell him wistfully.

"Now get in." I say. "It's late, comrade."


End file.
